


Family Matter

by Kerkerian



Category: Jake and the Fatman
Genre: Caring, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-23 05:47:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20003305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerkerian/pseuds/Kerkerian
Summary: Jake is ill, so it's McCabe to the rescue (whether Jake wants it or not) because there's no way he'll let the kid go through it alone...Set during season 1.





	Family Matter

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own 'Jake and the Fatman'.

It was after ten p.m. when district attorney J.L. McCabe and his bulldog Max entered apartment P4, and inside, it was dark.

“Told you, Max, Jake probably isn't even home yet,” the man muttered, turning on the lights. He unclipped his dog's leash and turned towards the kitchen: “We'll make some nice pasta. Come on.”

Max however padded over to the couch, hopping on to it with practised ease, and curled up with his head on one of the silk cushions.

Laughing quietly, McCabe shook his head: “You sure know how to enjoy life, my boy.”

He was just about to open the fridge when he heard something. Frowning, he stopped in his motion and strained his ears: there it was again. Someone was coughing.

Frowning even more, McCabe went to follow the noise, which seemed to originate from the bedroom. The door to which was ajar, so McCabe pushed it open and turned on the lights as well: better to have an advantage in case it was someone hostile, so Max could see where to attack.

“Jake!” he then said, surprised, though in hindsight it made sense- Max hadn't barked, after all. On the other hand- Max hadn't noticed Jake's presence either.

His favourite investigator and friend was lying on his side in the large bed, obviously asleep. Upon closer inspection, he didn't look too good; he was pale and his face was covered by a fine sheen of sweat. When McCabe felt his temple to check for a fever, he winced almost imperceptibly, then he eventually blinked his eyes open.

“Jake,” McCabe said gently. “It's me, J.L.”

Slowly, Jake turned onto his back: “What are you-” he managed to croak, the rest was drowned out by his cough.

McCabe didn't like it. “Max and I came by to make some dinner. I figured you'd be back from the airport around now.”

Jake coughed again: “Took an earlier flight...”

“Why didn't you call?”

“Weren't you in court all day?”

“Yes, but I do have a secretary, you know? Useless as she is sometimes, she does know how to relay messages.”

“'m sorry,” Jake croaked. “Just went home and crawled into bed. Sent the files to your office though.”

McCabe sighed: “I'll get you some water, and then I'm calling a doctor.”

“J.L., no...”

McCabe ignored Jake's protest and went back to the kitchen. He had sent Jake all the way to Washington for a case; he hadn't expected to get him back like this. Well, he did look a little peaky when they last saw each other, but Jake had waved McCabe's questions aside, leading the older man to write it off as possibly too little sleep because of a new fling. Now that he thought about it, he should have been more persistent.

He took a glass of water into the bedroom; Jake hadn't moved at all in the meantime, and he really did look ghastly. His movements were sluggish as he sat up to drink the water. McCabe regarded him worriedly: “When did this start?”

“Few days ago,” Jake muttered. He put the glass on the nightstand and slid down the pillows, obviously relieved. “Don't need a doctor, though, just some sleep.”

“You have a fever, my boy.”

“I'll be fine.”

McCabe regarded him: “Okay. Go to sleep, I'll be back in the morning.”

With a faint hum, Jake closed his eyes.

McCabe didn't leave just yet, but joined Max on the couch and waited for a while. When everything remained calm and Jake appeared to be sleeping, he got up, coaxed the dog to follow him and quietly let himself out.

On the following morning, Jake woke slowly, feeling even worse for wear. His whole body was aching, his eyes felt as if he had gotten too close to a fire, and he couldn't breathe through his nose. Great. For a while, he just lay there, thinking he might as well die, but eventually, he sat up. Coughing and with a throbbing head, he made his way over to the bathroom to relieve himself, then he splashed some cold water on his face, which felt amazing.

He wanted to get out of his sweat-soaked clothes as well and was thinking about a shower, but when he straightened up, his vision blackened for a second. Dizzily, he grabbed the rim of the sink and held on to it until the bout was over, then he staggered back to the bedroom, easing himself onto the mattress with a groan: he hadn't been this sick for a long time.

When McCabe let himself in a few minutes later, followed by Derek with Max, Jake had almost dozed off again. The DA put the bag he brought on the kitchen counter and told Derek to boil some water, then he peered into the bedroom: “Jake?” he said as softly as he was able to. A cough answered him.

“I've brought some tea and honey and some other stuff. And I've called a friend who'll look in on you around nine.”

Jake coughed again: “What friend?”

McCabe tilted his head: “Oh, he's a vet. I thought it couldn't hurt...”

Jake groaned.

McCabe shrugged: “Well, since you're sick as a dog...” He grinned, but quickly sobered up again when Jake didn't even move, just closed his eyes in defeat; he had never seen the young man like that, and it was a little alarming that he didn't even try to argue.

“I was only kidding, son,” he said gently. “He's a general practitioner.”

Jake sighed, not opening his eyes: “Need a shower first.”

“Okay. I'll make some tea in the meantime.”

Jake took a deep breath, pushed himself into a sitting position and somehow got to his feet and back into the bathroom.

The hot water didn't revive him as it usually did, on the contrary; it wasn't very comfortable with the way his sinuses felt, and he was feeling too hot anyway. But at least he felt clean afterwards. With trembling limbs, he slipped into his bathrobe and staggered back to his bed; fresh clothes would have to wait, he was so shaky that he needed to lie down again.

The next thing he knew was Derek's worried face: “Jake?” the younger man asked. “Are you awake?”

Jake blinked; he must have dozed off again. “Yeah,” he croaked. “McCabe bring in the cavalry?”

At that, Derek smiled in that shy way of his which betrayed how proud he was whenever he was being acknowledged: “Only me and Max. And now the doctor has arrived.”

“'kay. Thanks.”

Impatiently, McCabe drummed an irregular rhythm on the counter top with his fingers, only stopping when his friend Harold finally left Jake's bedroom a few minutes later.

“Well?” he demanded.

“The flu,” Harold said calmly. “And as it's quite progressed already, it needs to be managed carefully in order to avoid pneumonia. Meaning strict bed rest and plenty of fluids, since the fever's rather high. I'd suggest some paracetamol to reduce the temperature and provide some relief from the muscle aches.”

McCabe immediately sent Derek off to get the prescription filled; frowning, since he didn't want Jake to be alone, but he had to be in court at eleven.

When Derek returned, McCabe rounded on him: “I need you to stay here and look after our patient.”

Derek opened his mouth and closed it again, taken aback: “Sure,” he then said. “If you're certain you don't need me-”

“Yeah, well, Jake needs you more,” McCabe barked.

“Okay,” Derek replied good-naturedly; he did like Jake, after all, and he didn't mind staying with him.

When Jake woke up some time later, he still felt uncomfortably hot. Blinking his tired eyes open, he listened: the TV was on. Right; J.L. had told him that Derek was going to stay, and he had turned a deaf ear to Jake's protest: “I'll be fine.”

“See you tonight, kiddo,” the DA had just said, waving over his shoulder, and left.

Now, Jake sat up; the shirt he had put on after the doctor's visit was damp and clung to his skin, so he struggled out of it and just let it fall to the floor, followed by his boxer shorts. It took all he had to get some fresh things, put them on and go to the bathroom and back. He was just easing himself down on the mattress again when there was a soft knock on the door and Derek peered in: “Jake? You okay?”

Jake promptly coughed when he tried to answer, so Derek disappeared and, predictably, returned with a mug of tea and some cough syrup.

“Do you need anything?” he asked.

“Thank you,” Jake croaked, “I appreciate this, but you don't have to stay.”

Derek shook his head: “It's no problem. Besides, McCabe'd have my head if I didn't.”

At that, Jake rolled his eyes, but even that hurt. The tea and the syrup, he had to admit, were a relief for his sore throat, but he was glad to be lying down again afterwards.

He slept for the rest of the afternoon; it was getting dark outside when he woke up next. Feeling depleted, he just lay and listened for a while; he didn't hear anything. Maybe Derek had left in the meantime. It was an effort to get up and into the bathroom once more, but he really needed to pee. He hadn't sweated as badly this time, so maybe the fever was abating. His head did feel a little better, after all.

He washed his hands, but then his knees suddenly threatened to give out and he quickly held on to the rim of the sink, feeling like he was having a déjà-vu. Only it didn't pass. With a groan, he eased himself on the floor. Leaning against the wall, he wondered what to do now.

“Derek?” he tried, but his voice was so hoarse that he doubted anyone would hear it.

He didn't know for how long he had sat there when he heard another voice: “Jake? Are you alright?”

It was McCabe.

“J.L.,” Jake croaked as loudly as he could. A moment later, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in!”

McCabe peered in: “Jake! What are you doing!”

“I'm not doing it on purpose,” Jake croaked. “Help me up, will you?”

McCabe managed to pull him to his feet; it still felt wobbly, but with the other man's support, Jake made his way back to his bed. “Thanks.” He looked utterly relieved.

With a frown, McCabe felt his forehead and his temple: “Fever's gone down a bit,” he muttered. “What happened in there?”

“Nothing. My legs weren't cooperating.”

“Did you eat anything at all today?”

“I don't think so.”

“Ha. And you wonder why you keel over. Lie down again and I'll bring you something.”

McCabe kept frowning as he went into the kitchen; he didn't like to see Jake so vulnerable. And it all brought up memories of Dan, back when he, McCabe, still felt like a father and was able to help. Well, he thought, putting up his chin, that was in the past, and Jake felt more like a son to him nowadays than anyone else. He didn't have any reason to feel guilty about that.

Jake wasn't particularly hungry, but he realized that his friend was right. He lay back and had nearly drifted off again when McCabe came back with a steaming mug and a plate holding salted crackers and a bit of mango.

“Best chicken soup in town,” he said after Jake had sat up and taken the mug.

“Where did you get it?”

“Gertrude made it.”

“J.L.! You didn't force her to make soup for me, did you?”

“No, of course not! She volunteered.”

Jake refrained from rolling his eyes this time: “So you're not allowed to call her 'useless' ever again.”

McCabe grumbled something into his beard.

“What was that?”

“I said better drink it while it's hot.”

“Ah.” Jake subdued a smile: “Please tell her my thanks.”

McCabe regarded him, then he sighed: “I will, kid.”

It took two more days until Jake felt well enough to be up- and 'up' in this case meant the couch instead of his bed. McCabe spent as much time with him as he could, and whenever he wasn't there, Derek was. And sometimes, Max, who usually snuggled up with Jake on the couch.

Gradually, the cough lessened, and Jake regained some colour. It was another week though before he was fit enough to get back to work, and even then, McCabe tried to keep him from it.

“I don't need you for this one,” he said after Jake had come into his office to look at the file of their latest case.

“Yes, you do.” Jake raised his eyebrows: “Or did you intend to do all the ground work yourself?”

“You don't want a relapse,” McCabe growled.

“I'm _fine_ , J.L.,” Jake replied. “Thanks to you.”

At that, McCabe's stern expression softened: “Ah. It's what everyone in their right mind would have done.”

Jake pretended to think about this: “Really? I've heard about bosses who fired their minions if they dared to get sick.”

“Who're you calling a minion,” McCabe grumbled good-naturedly, but then he inclined his head: “You know that I care about you, kid.”

“Yeah,” Jake said softly. “I do. And you know that it's reciprocated, right?”

“Right,” McCabe muttered, blinking heavily. “Thank you, my boy.”

Jake regarded him with a smile, then he took up the file: “Now, will you let me help you with this case?”

McCabe heaved a sigh: “Fine. But be careful and don't overdo it.”

“Okay.” Jake's smile deepened.

“What?” McCabe demanded. “What's so funny?”

“Nothing.” Jake got up and straightened his jacket: “See you later.”

“Yes,” the DA muttered, watching him go: “See you later, son.”

**Author's Note:**

> So here I was, having watched all of Riptide and craving some more Joe Penny... guess what happened next. =D


End file.
